The winds grew colder as they neared the forgotten ruins of Myrinth. What once was a majestic sanctuary to the old gods now lay as a crumbled skeleton in the fog, scattered with broken columns and vines that curled like sleeping serpents.
Flynn dismounted from his horse, his white hair catching what little moonlight pierced through the gray sky. Beside him, Elior followed silently, his gloved hand resting near the hilt of his sword. Behind them, two trusted guards kept watch, their expressions tense.
"It's too quiet," Flynn murmured.
Elior nodded. "There were supposed to be bandits haunting this place. But I see no fire. No footsteps. No sound."
Flynn's gaze swept the area. The stones bore strange scorch marks — as if something had burned there recently. Not wildfires. Controlled flames. Intentional.
He knelt, touching one of the blackened patches.
"Still warm," he whispered.
His heart pulsed faster. A memory flickered — of another place, another time. Of Caelan running through similar ruins, breath ragged, hunted like an animal.
Flynn shook his head. Now wasn't the time for ghosts.
He stood again. "Someone was here. Not long ago."
They moved deeper into the ruins, past collapsed archways and remnants of statues whose faces had been eroded by time. One of the guards paused by a scorched wall and called out, "Your Highness… over here."
Flynn and Elior approached. Etched faintly into the stone were words — in Elarian script.
Flynn narrowed his eyes, reading aloud:
"When the crown forgets the flame, the ashes will remember."
Elior's brows furrowed. "That's not just a warning. That's a message."
Flynn agreed. "And someone wants us to find it."
The wind howled then, sharp and sudden. Flynn felt something prickle beneath his skin — a sensation like being watched. He turned sharply.
A flutter of black — a cloak, perhaps — disappeared behind a pillar.
"Someone's still here!" he shouted.
Elior and the guards moved instantly, weapons drawn.
Flynn ran toward the broken column, but when he turned the corner — nothing. Only the cold.
But something had changed.
At the base of the stone, he saw a symbol drawn in chalk. A blade crossed with a crown — the mark of the fallen kingdom of Elaris.
Flynn's throat tightened. "Why would they leave this behind?"
Elior came to his side. "Unless they wanted to be found."
Flynn closed his eyes for a moment. Why now? Why here?
He turned to his men. "We make camp. And we watch. Someone's testing us… and I intend to pass."
As they prepared for the night, the image of the chalk mark stayed with him. So did the words scorched into stone.
"The ashes will remember."
But what did they remember?
And what did it mean for him?
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